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Naked, by 1tk1
Author’s Note: The views in this story are not necessarily mine, but are Fadi Ibrahim’s. It is through this character that the story is told. Therefore, I hope none are offended by any of the points expressed in this piece, since they are not meant to cause personal offense. Part 1: "We've been defeated, but whose fault was it?" Fadi Ibrahim could not believe what he was watching. Eltanin Timedes, Sultan of Al Kharid, had sent his men into the hands of Pharoah Shai Nefer of Menaphia. What was the story? The two were lovers, weren’t they? This alliance was a foolish play based on love, not on its advantage for Al Kharid. Of course, Fadi had to admit, Eltanin probably had no other choice. Tharkus had taken and occupied Al Kharid for As-Sahra, whose sultan was an obnoxious, arrogant camel. Eltanin fled, commanding his soldiers to flee to Sophanem, where they would find refuge under Menaphia’s wing. They did as instructed, Fadi remembered. It took many days to cross the desert, but they had very little time to rest, for they knew that every minute they were idle, the soldiers of As-Sahra would be that much closer. So, they sped across the sands, stopping for no more than four hours at a time. When they finally arrived at Sophanem, the men were exhausted. Shai Nefer granted them shelter, and Fadi was grateful to have a roof to protect him from Tumeken’s heat. It wasn’t long, however, before Eltanin appeared. He held a marvelous blade, sung of by the ancients to be powerful enough to strike down the gods. This was a blasphemous thought, Fadi knew, but he could not help but feel elated to find their leader in possession of such a great weapon. Surely, As-Sahra could not face them now. Fadi was wrong. No, Eltanin was wrong. He allowed Shai Nefer to send them into the battle first, knowing how futile their fight against the massive force of Kaliq Jabbar would be. As Fadi fought, he felt resentment boiling in the pit of his stomach. Every scream from his brothers, every body that fell, every sad corpse’s eye that stared into his soul: these were the things that burned his heart hotter than the desert ever could. Fadi witnessed how long it took his brothers to realize their position. Al Kharid was fodder and Eltanin was showing no sign of calling them to a retreat. Any sensible person could see that their fight, Al Kharid’s fight, was hopeless. And what were they fighting for? For Menaphia and the camel dung-brained pharaoh that sent them to the front in the first place. This was not a fight for Al Kharid: this was a fight for an alien country, to whom none of these men held any passion for. So Fadi did not condemn his brothers when they finally – wisely – fleed. Go, he thought. Leave Eltanin and Shai Nefer and this damned land. Go back home, where you can at least die close to your families. Die? Fadi had heard of the struggle between the two kings of Hallowrein. Rumors, yes, but that was the only hint of silver Fadi could spot in this storm. Misthalin’s forces were supposed to be occupying Al Kharid, while Asgarnia’s should be sweeping through As-Sahra in conquest. If Fadi and Al Kharid’s soldiers could reach their home… As the memories flowed through his mind, Fadi’s attention also focused on the scene playing before him. Eltanin was arguing with Jabbar, whose army had proven superior to Menaphia’s: Sophanem and Menaphos and the entire desert south of the Shanty Pass now belonged to As-Sahra. What was Eltanin protesting? Fadi thought on this, trying to remember what he heard. Eltanin did not want to remove his clothes. Fadi blushed with shame, shame that came from having served under such a man as Eltanin. After watching most of his men flee, after having even more men die at his feet, the sultan could not endure this humiliation to save the lives of the few loyal men that stayed. Among them was Fadi, but if he had ever been loyal, he wasn’t now. I was scared, he told himself. I was afraid to run away, so I stayed. Better to admit to cowardice than to loyalty to a fool. But there was more than one incompetent sultan, Fadi noticed. Kaliq Jabbar gave his terms and Eltanin protested. No, Eltanin! You are in no position to negotiate! You’ve lost! Don’t you see that you are gambling with the lives of your people? But, to Fadi’s surprise, Jabbar gave in a bit. This man is a fool, thought Fadi. Eltanin is already under your foot, yet you continue to mock him with meaningless negotiation. That, my stupid friend, is a sign of weakness in the eyes of your men. They do not see a father goading a powerless child. They see a jackal hesitantly approaching a beetle. You have undermined their victory with this charade. While the effects won’t be immediate, that thought will fester in your men’s hearts, and they will eventually come to realize how weak their leader is. You may have won Sophanem, but your tail still hangs between your legs. Part 2: "I can't stay here. I'm needed elsewhere." Fadi could not bear to watch this anymore. He left the crowd of the soldiers of Al Kharid, those few who had stayed under Eltanin’s influence. If they were going to remain loyal to that man, they were too blind to interest him. Fadi traced around the walls of the city. Many of the citizens were out, watching as As-Sahra broke their country’s ankles. None of them recognized him as a soldier, since he had stripped himself of his military attire shortly after separating from the group. Shai Nefer has fled, he realized. She was not here to suffer the fate that she deserved for being so dumb. How did she escape, exactly? There had to be a way out… By an astonishing coincidence, the answer came to him. Subtly hidden behind buildings to the east, a crack in Sophanem’s wall showed itself to him. He noticed that he could contort his body enough to slide in, but realized that the crack did not go all the way through. There was no sand on the other side, but more wall. Disappointed, Fadi almost left the crack to find more promising route of escape, but as he passed the crack a second time, he glanced down and noticed that the ground within the wall appeared to depress. Fadi’s interest was captured by this revelation. The escape route didn’t go through the wall. Instead, this crack was a passage into the wall. This seemed a bit farfetched to Fadi, but he continued to rationalize the passage in his mind. If a crack went through the entire wall, outsiders would notice this weakness and utilize it if they were enemies. Spies could easily sneak in and out of the city through this crack, which was obvious outside, but not inside. But the crack didn’t go through the wall. Where did it go? The passage would lead underground, through a path that would bring him to an out-of-place location. The exit would not appear to be an obvious entrance into Sophanem; rather, it would probably be a hole in the ground or a small cave. Since he hadn’t found any other promising exit strategies, Fadi decided to try out the crack in the wall. He didn’t have any more time to search the city. Soon, As-Sahra would have the entire city under Jabbar’s control, and Fadi would never have a chance like this again. So he squeezed into the crack and found himself sliding down slowly. Fadi dropped suddenly when the hole under him widened, falling onto the hard rock below. It was dark. His hands felt around the cave, sliding over the cold walls of the tunnel. It was damp. He could see the walls glisten around the area he had dropped from, where a faint light shone down from the shaft. Fadi moved forward, sometimes slurping up the moisture on the walls when he became thirsty. The taste left a lot to be desired, but at least he wouldn’t get sick from it. Fadi knew that he wouldn’t get sick from this strange water that could have any sort of contaminant in it. He glanced at the palm of his right hand where a blue glow hovered: the water mark. Even if these waters were poisoned, they wouldn’t kill Fadi. He was immune to their impurities, even if his taste buds weren’t. A long time passed, and Fadi had taken many twists and turns in this tunnel. Had he missed another tunnel? Was this leading to a dead end? No, he thought. His eyes had adjusted to the darkness long ago and he hadn’t seen any other paths he could take. Even as he considered this, he also felt that there may have been another path that strayed from this one, a path that lead to the real exit, before his eyes had adjusted. As the dread set upon him, he spotted a light. It was so faint that had he not been accustomed to hours in darkness, he would not have noticed it. Fadi rushed to what appeared to be an opening and crawled up to the exit, for the tunnel’s ceiling lowered and inclined upward. Fadi emerged to find the sun setting; it had been noon when he left Sophanem. No, the sun was rising! Fadi had been underground for almost a day. At that moment, he felt the yearning for meals missed and sleep forgotten. There was a tent before him, and beyond the tent rushed the nurturing waters of the River Elid. Tumeken and Elidinis had come to greet him this morning upon his escape from Timedes’ foolishness and Jabbar’s cruelty. Shelter had been prepared for him, too. If this were not the work of divine intervention, Fadi would leave the desert forever and live within Dorgeshkaan, whose inhabitants had denounced all gods. Exhausted, moreso than when he had arrived at Sophanem with his thousands of brothers, Fadi Ibrahim entered the tent and collapsed onto the cloth bed. He slept until noon. Part 3: "Brothers... listen to me." Fadi arrived at Al Kharid on the 5th day of Bennath. The battle at Sophanem ended two weeks ago, and most of Al Kharid’s men had arrived home before Fadi did. Misthalin’s forces occupied Al Kharid. Al Kharid’s own soldiers were stripped of their weapons and sent to their families. Fadi recognized some of them. Hanif was carrying his small son on his shoulders, smiling and laughing as the young boy picked at his father’s hair. Kadar and his wife were leaned against a wall, holding each other’s hands. Muhsin was behind a makeshift stage with puppets on his hands, children laughing and crying and hollering along with his story. Everyone looked so happy. Misthalin’s men were not crushing them; they were protecting them. Perhaps getting aid from King Victor would be easier than he thought. But who would recognize Al Kharid as a nation now? Eltanin was probably dead, and Al Kharid was, in a sense, Hallowrein, or at least Misthalin Hallowrein. While he appreciated Misthalin’s kindness to his home and people, Fadi knew Al Kharid could never be Hallowrein without their culture being overwhelmed. Somebody had to reclaim Al Kharid as Al Kharid, and Fadi Ibrahim was perhaps the only man here ambitious enough to do it. With the sultan overthrown, Al Kharid Palace was no longer a place only for government. All of the valuables had been removed from its confines and shipped to Port Sarim, where they would then be carted to Falador to sit in King Wilan’s treasure chest. Fadi found the palace as it had become: some of the stalls of the bazaar found their way into the courtyard; inside, citizens and Misthalin soldiers ate cuisines from both Al Kharid and Misthalin heritage; in what had been the guards’ barracks, orphans and injured citizens and solders were cared for. Since the upper floors were being used for the occupying Misthalin military for their meetings and events, Fadi was not allowed to go further. However, he had seen enough. Misthalin truly would be a good ally to have, and a friendly one. If King Victor were wise, he’d know that he couldn’t swallow up Al Kharid without a fight. Relying on the legitimacy of a king he’d never met, Fadi stripped himself in the middle of the courtyard and began climbing up the fountain. As he made his way to the top, some of the people at the palace glanced away from their conversations and looked to him. Some even called out to him, trying to shame him for his lack of clothing and his foolishness, but he simply ignored their calls. Every time he reached up, every time his foot placed itself higher, every time his lungs heaved to push him into the sky, Fadi Ibrahim drew more eyes to his young, muscled body, which rippled like the rivers as he climbed. By the time he reached the top and stood to show them all his naked body, glistening in the sunlight, the palace was quiet. Many of the people inside had come out, curious about the sudden silence. Others looked out the windows at a man standing on top of the fountain. Even some of those passing outside of the palace were drawn in. He half-expected some of them to continue to wonder out loud, “What is that youngster doing up there, showing off his body? Where is his mother?” Nobody told him to get down and to put his clothes back on. Not even the Misthalin soldiers: though, some gave looks of aversion, to which Fadi suppressed a smirk. He had their attention now. He had to win them over before the chance was lost. So, he immediately began telling his story, starting with the betrayal of Al Kharid by Tharkus and As-Sahra. Fadi told them of the city they lost to Tharkus. He told them of the exhausting trek across the desert. He told them of Shai Nefer’s hospitality, and of her willingness to let them spend them for her own good. He told them of Eltanin’s shoddy leadership. He told them of Jabbar’s crushing victory. He told them of the brave men standing with them today, alive, who escaped after realizing Eltanin’s poor use of their lives (though, many of the deserters still hid their faces in shame, despite Fadi glorifying their flight). He told them of Eltanin’s gamble with Jabbar, when he was too shy to show his body to his enemies and friends to save his men’s lives. He told them of his escape from Sophanem. He told them of the safety supplied by Tumeken and Elidinis once he emerged from the darkness. He told them of his lonely trek back home. He told them of his relief to find his people safe and happy and good. “Look at me,” he said, motioning to his naked body, still wet with the fountain’s waters. “I am not ashamed to show myself to you, to show myself to you how the gods molded me. This is my body. I will not hide myself from you, and when the enemy asks me to show myself in exchange for your safety, I will not shirk from my duties.” There it was. He had established himself as their leader, as Al Kharid’s leader, yet none of them were protesting. He even received claps of acceptance and acknowledgment. The claps grew louder and spread through the palace, drawing even more citizens to the show. The soldiers of Misthalin joined in the applause, assured that they had just witnessed something great. They couldn’t do anything to him without harming their relationship with the people of Al Kharid. Misthalin had to accept him as Al Kharid’s leader, now. “Do not call me sultan, for that title is foolish and dirty, while Al Kharid is not. Do not call me king, for that is the title of our greatest enemy. Yet, it is also the title of our greatest friend. Do not call me emperor, for I have no interest in oppressing others in the way Asgarnia’s King Wilan has.” He paused, taking in the shouts of concurrence to fuel his command. Before the applause could die down, he started again. “Call me Man,” he shouted, “for I am created by the gods, as you are, and as all people are! This is not Hallowrein, for only an evil man wishes it to be! This is Al Kharid, for we are the people of Al Kharid, and this is where we decide to make our home!” More applause. He had them now. And while the soldiers of Misthalin might feel a bit uncomfortable, they knew he was referring to Asgarnia, whose king had tricked them into leaving their homes. Jabbar. Roumont. Najib. Timedes. If only you could see the man you gave birth to: the naked man that will lead Al Kharid back to its position of respect and dignity.